My queen sized bed has become my best friend. When I am tired, which seems to be all the time, she gives me a comfortable home to rest my eyes. If Mother Nature is blowing snow outside of my window, she keeps me warm. She caresses me into her soft body and wraps around my skin and bones to keep me from shivering from the cold. She is good to me, so, so good to me, though I am not always good to her. I am not always around when she expects me to be, yet I always need her when she doesn’t seem to need me. During these times she likes to be alone, but as soon as one o’clock comes around I need her kind arms around me.
Some days she’ll get mad at me. She can smell the scent of another bed all around my body, in my hair, and under my nails. I have denied, rejected, and let her down. She’ll get unimaginably angry towards me and she won’t allow me to sleep. She turns her body into stone and she rocks the bed as if she is the sea and I am the canoe. For this I feel sad; I’ve let another one down. I begin to spend more time with her to make up for the moments I’ve missed.
I have become addicted to her. When I rest upon her chest all time seems to stop. I am free. With my head upon the pillow, she whispers stories in my ear, her voice soft and sweet. The way the words flow out of her like silk is arousing. All of her thoughts she tells me, turn into a beautiful, yet tragic dream. Some nights I am resting on clouds, slowly flying by being blown by the breath of her words. I am in heaven. Every second I am with her, I can’t wait to hear what she has to say.
Some nights are a surprise. She frightens me. These times of horror come from her frustration and hurt. For all the times I left her, she was soaked in pain. On these nights, when she tells me a story it is dark and heavy. Her words are sharp and stab into each crevasse of my body. When I wake, I find tears slowly trickling down the side of my face. I am no longer on a cloud in the sky, but on a train rolling off its tracks seeing its death come upon as it falls from the bridge.
After these painful moments I know I should leave her because she’s hurt me, but honestly, I don’t mind. I’ll always find myself crawling back to her: back to bed.